


Put a ring on it

by Carmilla DeWinter (miladys_revenge)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, M/M, POV Second Person, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2020-01-31 22:17:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18600490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miladys_revenge/pseuds/Carmilla%20DeWinter
Summary: You do not hit old men.





	Put a ring on it

1.

You do not hit old men.

Even if said men are Steve Rogers. (You have no idea who that is anymore. Haven't for a while.)

In the end, this is why you send Sam to greet the old man who went and lived without you (and without regrets) for so long. Because Sam wants Steve to be happy.

You want Steve, which is a whole different ballpark.

It was never to be, and you've made your peace with that a long time ago. The attraction has long since turned into a manageable ache, though the jealousy flares up too often, still. At least you two are friends, right?

Some friend.

Oh, certainly, there once was a Steve who went against orders to find you, his best friend. He jumped into enemy territory and started a small war against Tony Stark over your freedom. Or so you thought.

But Steve is big on principles, has always been. Did he come to Kreischberg for you or just because one doesn't leave men behind? Did he fight Tony about you or did you merely get in the way of an argument long coming? Did he tear Europe apart, looking for you, because it was you or because you were the only anchor to his past?

You have no idea anymore.

You, who were drafted (twice, thrice over), who had a fucking motor repair shop to inherit, went and fought Nazis for Steve and got yourself out of Hydra's programming for Steve. You lived in a dive in Bucharest after you'd stumbled over the fact that kissing Steve wasn't a crime in the US anymore and had no earthly idea what to do with that knowledge. (Eastern Europe at least has a more familiar moral code in that respect.)

In the end, you got a couple hugs and a whole lot of fights you didn't pick in return.

What else was new?

Maybe it was just one disappointment too many. Maybe seeing Steve rip Tony apart over a lie of omission Steve told – maybe you weren't able to forgive him picking the easy way. You'd have loved to actually talk to Tony, because your lives were similar in some ways. (Now the man is dead, and you won't ever be able to apologize to him. Sam is the only guy who perhaps got that.)

After that, staying in Wakanda and herding goats was the logical choice. Get some distance, get the brain in order, get over Steve not getting over Peggy Carter.

And now here sits the mook who went and changed the timeline in order to take the long way round and get his happy ending. So much for the end of the damn line.

You actually nearly kissed Steve before setting him on his way to return the Infinity Stones. To surprise him and anchor him in the now. An endeavor as selfish as it would have been pointless, because this Steve and you – you would never have worked, even if Steve were the slightest bit queer. (Why are you so disappointed that he went and did exactly as you feared? He's leaving you alone with a bunch of grieving people you barely know, who now will have to shoulder another death in the semi-near future.)

Anyhow, it's way too late to even try to put a ring on that man.

 

2.

You do visit Steve at the house he shared with Carter and look at the paraphernalia of a long life. (Is there some schadenfreude that Steve and Carter did not have children, but the other Carter, who married another man, did?)

Steve owns a big record collection. Old and expensive, but you can't geek out about it like Steve does. In turn, you let Steve listen to some sick Wakandan beats Shuri sent. (Steve was there for the evolution of Hip Hop and hates it. He silently disapproves of NIN, In Flames and the Ramones as well as most other metal and punk adjacent stuff in your very eclectic collection of MP3s. (You are old-fashioned like that and haven't quite gotten the hang of streaming music.))

You're a young man and an old man who have nearly nothing to talk about anymore.

It's unbearably awkward.

After the first visit, you actually lie in bed and cry for everything Steve squandered so carelessly. For every one of your feelings he walked over in the past thirty-something years you've known him.

Still, Steve gifts you his bike, because an old man's failing strength and a heavy motorcycle don't get along so well. It's a beautiful machine, an antique Harley-Davidson, well kept.

Just for something to do (and because hitting that shield while sparring is quite satisfying), you're glad Sam is planning to keep the Avengers alive. He asks Carol to co-lead a troupe that has to relearn itself, and he asks you to stay on.

You do. It's time to return to the old US of A on a permanent basis.

“Headquarters is a mess,” Sam understates.

“Eh,” you say. “I was a sergeant. Managing logistics is practically the job description.”

Also, you get more hugs from Sam (who is probably straight) in any average two weeks than you got from Steve in the two years before Thanos.

So you set up a trailer near the crater while directing the team during clean-up. You and Pepper argue about budgeting with a bunch of politicos. (Pepper is a woman who gets shit done. You're half in awe and half in love.)

Because Steve associates trailers with being poor, he halfheartedly offers you his guest room, which you decline.

Steve also talks about Natasha sometimes, how she would try to set him up on dates. It's a very roundabout way of asking about your love live, which is, admittedly, boring. But you've had enough of dating a different girl every other weekend so Steve would be jealous (or not care and live on in happy oblivion), so you pointedly don't install Tindr on your phone (or Grindr, for that matter). You also ignore hints about a neighbor's daughter who is single. (Steve is now actually an old man. You've no idea whether this is funny or depressing.)

You do join a swing-dancing group with Wanda, though, because you miss that kind of dancing.

After the group accepts that Wanda is not your girlfriend, you date one of the college girls who was ogling you (one date, amicable, but better off as acquaintances) and a pansexual person of the genderqueer persuasion (three dates, decent sex, but your rough edges rub each other raw).

After that, you buy a couple of bi-flag stickers (technically, you fit the description for pan, but holy shit is that flag an eyesore), stick one on the bike, and one on your trailer.

Sam hugs you. Wanda hugs you. Bruce hugs you. Pepper hugs you. Morgan hugs you, even though she's not quite sure why you dating men is a big deal. Her favorite TV character has two dads, so what? The Guardians and Thor grunt in acknowledgment. Carol asks what it means and then orders you to get her a rainbow for _her_ bike. Shuri squeals.

Steve notices, oh yes, but he never says a word, not even about defacing the bike. Therefore, you have no idea whether Steve is surprised, has any regrets, or just disapproves because you never told him about being queer. (Steve lived in a queer neighborhood for a while, so it's not plain conservative hate.)

For a while, you're content to let life drift you apart. You ignore most of his calls and soon there are whole days when you don't think about everything that didn't come to be.

 

0.

Steven Grant Rogers takes the Tesseract back to New Jersey in 1970, so he can take the scepter in – return the scepter to – 2012.

 

3.

You visit the grave shortly after the first anniversary of the battle and Tony's death. (You avoided the anniversary itself, because you prefer to avoid Steve these days. Sam doesn't even urge you to reconcile.) You've just laid down a bouquet of flowers and shouldn't really stay, when a guy, that is, I, steps up next to you. Rather closely, too. You notice a man who is tall, slender, with full black hair. I look to be in my mid-thirties, have an impish smile and green eyes and am drop-dead gorgeous. (If I may say so.) (You're too busy ogling me to insist on your space.)

This visitor. I am Loki.

I watch as you put two and two together. Photos do not do justice to me, and 2012 was not my best year.

Should you alert someone about me being alive and well? How am I simultaneously dead by Thanos' hand and here? Did Steve not tell you I stole the Tesseract? I put it back far too late and at exactly the right moment.

I grin at you and gesture at the headstone. “I once threw him out of a window.”

“I killed his parents,” you deadpan.

I nod (because Tony Stark was more forgiving than I ever could be), and proceed to stare at the grave. “He once called me his stuff.” One corner of my mouth quirks up. “Such a quick mind and such a mouth on him.”

That compliment is a lot of things, but straight it is not. You eye me.

“He certainly did talk a lot. I didn't get many chances to listen.”

Would you believe that he regretted that, too?

“Oh, he did try to bury any one feeling under a flood of words. Very few saw the generous person underneath. I do not know whether I would have been able to be as selfless as he was with the gauntlet.” I kneel and produce a perfect red rose out of a pocket dimension. I picked it especially, yet it can never say all that there needs to be said. My feelings shall bloom longer than that rose, and it is time to consider putting down roots once more. “I loved him well in one of the dead branches of Yggdrasill.”

You're touching my shoulder before you're aware you've moved. Comforting another who loved and lost?

“So did one version of you,” I add. It was a beautiful thing to behold.

Your mouth falls open, but you can't speak. Another you was with Tony Stark? Should you believe that? Were you attracted to him? Maybe, but only in a general, nebulous sense. You do sometimes notice right away that some people might click with you. You clear your throat. “Why are you telling me this?”

I shrug and am still very carefully not looking at you. “It sometimes hurts when no one can notice why you are grieving.” And I am. Was. Grieving Tony Stark.

Sucker punch. You're over the Steve-that-was, but you've never told a single soul about it. Even when it tore you up inside. “You stalking me?” But you don't remove your hand from my shoulder until I rise.

“My mother grew up with witches, and I listened when she spoke of it. I have no need of stalking.” My powers may not be as far-seeing as Dr. Strange's, but I have my moments. I was a bullied child, also, which gives me the talent to observe others. Finally I turn to you. Offer you another one of those little smiles. I have grown from the bullied child at long last. Stealing the Tesseract from Steve, it allowed me to examine the possibilities. (It was an ultimately selfish endeavor while all of you were fighting Thanos. I am not a good man. By now, I also know better than to stay near something as powerful as that gauntlet.) “I am a wanderer, and I am free now.”

Are you free? You decide that you are. That exact moment when a spark ignites in those gray eyes of yours: that is infinitely addicting. You have just met a gorgeous guy with some shared life experience. What's not to like about that? “There's a really nice diner a couple blocks from here. Have lunch with me?”

My smile grows wider and crinkles my eyes in a manner you obviously find appealing. “Is that a date?”

You have to clear your throat a second time. “Yes.”

In a truly courteous gesture, I bow and offer my arm. The right one. Not afraid of the prosthetic. Never. “Do lead the way, Sergeant Barnes.”

You do.

We end up in your trailer, talking late into the night. This outcome is so much better than I hoped.

 

4.

“So,” you say one evening, when you don't want to avoid Steve anymore. “Loki's not just miraculously alive. He's living with me. In blissful sin,” you add, just to make sure Steve understands it is not a roommate-situation.

“Did you just come here to tell me this?” Steve sounds more raspy than usual.

“I don't know.” You sigh, take a sip of the wine. (Knowing Pepper and me certainly did refine your tastes. Peggy and Dernier did that for Steve.) “I frankly have no idea why you insist on talking to me anymore.”

“We're friends,” Steve says.

“Are we? This,” you gesture with your glass. Decide to be combative. “The line ended a long time ago, didn't it?”

“Was there ever one?” Steve asks. “I had to wonder. Everyone else heard about the” – short stop at having learned shame and not yet unlearned it – “bisexual thing, before I had any idea. Any. You never breathed a word.”

You run a hand through your hair and disturb the braids I so lovingly put on you. (Love? Yes. We're both too old and too full of what-ifs not to commit to what we want.) “Would it have changed anything? You – you're not queer.” Breathe. “You never noticed the openings I gave you.” In the blissfully oblivious way many straight people have, that allows them to ignore possible queer readings of nearly anything.

“I'm not queer, no.” Pause. “Are you really using that word for yourself?”

You shrug. “Yup. Took a while. Technically, I'm pan, but I prefer bi or queer.”

You two are silent for a long while. It's a long way from the Brooklyn of your teenage years.

“I had to question every single interaction we had,” Steve says. “I don't know know why I was so selectively blind.”

“I wanted you to be,” you admit. “Would have been too awkward.”

Again, Steve takes time to think. “Yes. I would have bent over backwards to keep you.” He empties his own glass of wine. “It wouldn't have worked in the long run.”

True.

“I'm sorry,” Steve adds. “If it hadn't been for me –”

“Don't.” You touch his arm. “I was an adult and it was my decision to value our friendship over sleeping around. But I do hate you for the stunt you pulled last year my time.” (You yelled about it for an hour, then I held you longer.)

Steve swallows, doesn't answer.

“I know you don't regret it one lick.”

“No.”

Checkmate.

“You're a selfish bastard,” you say, falling back on your time-approved job as the voice of reason. The one who gives in, because you like this man even when you shouldn't and even when he sure as anything does not deserve it. “Tony is the only one who ever called you on your bullshit.” (We miss him.)

“I don't regret that decision,” Steve confirms. “But. For what it's worth, I am sorry for springing it on you.”

You nod despite yourself. “Impulsive, too.”

Steve reaches out, so very tentatively, and squeezes your hand. “Should have taken Sam with me, huh?”

Forgiveness really is an odd thing. You walk into a place, determined to have a long overdue friendship-breakup, and then this.

 

5.

You drop onto our couch next to me that night and proceed to kiss me senseless. Your mouth tastes like closure and new starts.

“Is it too early to talk marriage?”, you ask me sometime later in the night.

Me, who is forging a ring when you don't look.

“I have it on good authority that it is not,” I say. I can't help grinning from ear to ear.

 

(Valkyrie shall officiate and bring Carol Danvers as her plus one. You shall be resplendent in blue, black and just a dash of gold to match that arm of yours. Steven and Thor shall each make a speech, but Thor is the bigger man and shall cry a little. We all shall toast the one who made this possible. You and me, we shall both look like young men when we bury Steven Grant Rogers, at 111, five years hence. It is a thing you don't realize yet, what Zola's serum did and what Erskine's did not. I shall find a way to keep you with me for a while to come, and you shall finally travel to places even the stories you read as a teenager never dared to dream up.

You shall always be glad you never hit an old man for being his crotchety self long before his time.)

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I walked out of the cinema and had feels. Some of them were angry. Some of them needed fic and a crack paring instead of chocolate, apparently. (Actually, don't ask me how my brain made this happen.)  
> It took me six hours to write and I had no beta, because the trusty beta is watching that movie just now. Hopefully this made some sense anyway.
> 
> Edit 2020-01-01: corrected some typos


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